The Challenge Thread
by zipple
Summary: Pottergoose comes up with evil plot bunnies and I can't help but write them out. Each chapter is a one-shot. Each title represents the prompt given. If I'm forced to post against my will, you guys might as well benefit from it too ;-P
1. Snape PMSing

Snape marches briskly into a classroom full of 3rd years, looking menacing. The 3rd years stop their chatting immeadiately and face forward. Snape hardly notices. Instead he wrenches open a filing cabinet, grabs a fat wad of papers and slams them on his desk so hard that it knocks over a cup full of quills and causes several 3th years to jump.

Snape places one hand on either side of the papers and glares. He hunches his shoulders, like a greasy black panther observing his prey. "Pathetic," he snarls, looking at each student in turn. "One would think, after three years of trying to squeeze some glimmer of knowledge into your brains that you would AT LEAST be able to form a coherent sentence."

The class shifts restlessly as Snape pauses. His shoulders twitch dangerously.

"NO! INSTEAD I'M LEFT TEACHING A BUNCH OF IDIOTS THAT CAN'T EVEN SPELL!" Snape slaps the desk hard and the tower of paper collapses. Papers slide all over the desk, some on the floor. Snape grabs a papers at random. He quickly glances at each one and flings them aside. "DITTANY IS NOT SPELLED 'D-Y-T-A-N-I'. A BOZOAR'S MAIN PURPOSE IS NOT TO PREVENT PIMPLES. AND THE PROPER WAY TO OBTAIN DRAGON'S BLOOD IS NOT TO 'RUN AT IT WITH A POINTED STICK'! AND MISS COLLIERS, FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN IF I SEE THAT YOU HAVE WRITTEN ON YOUR HOMEWORK ANY MORE VARIOUS ALLUSIONS TO YOU MARRYING OR HAVING IT OFF WITH HARRY JAMES _'GOING TO SAVE THE SODDING WORLD BY BEING A BLITHERING IDIOT'_ POTTER, I WILL PERSONALLY MAKE SURE THAT HIS BOLLOCKS WILL BE PAINFULLY REMOVED AND USED IN A SHRINKING SOLUTION!"

Snape starts to shred the papers and flings them about the room. A few brave students look towards Miss Heather Colliers, who is presently slipping down underneath the desk, face blazing as red as a Weasley's hair.

"WELL THAT IS IT! YOU WILL ALL _RE-WRITE_ YOUR ESSAYS AND I EXPECT AN _EXTRA FOOT_ BY NEXT LESSON OR SO _HELP_ ME YOU WILL ALL BE IN DETENTION FOR A MONTH RECITING ONE THOUSAND TIMES** "I AM A WIZARD, NOT A TROLL WITH BRAIN DAMAGE!"**

Snape gives a glowering look to the petrified students. Suddenly, it's very apparent there is a dripping sound coming from within the classroom that wasn't there before. The class looks towards the jars of potions ingredients, suspecting that Snape's magic had gotten out of control during his rage. When it becomes clear that the potion jars are intact, they follow the sound to Graham Wymer, who has seemed to have wet himself.

Snape gives one final sneer and strides out, slamming the classroom door behind him.

The classroom is silent for about 30 seconds (a record) before a timid voice asks "So, is this a free period then?"


	2. Pregnant Hermione

It's a typical Sunday at the Potter household. James is sitting on the kitchen floor playing quitely with blocks, Ginny is at the breakfast table drinking tea in her dressing gown and editing her lastest piece for the Daily Profit. She is at least six months pregnant with soon-to-be Albus Severus. Harry is at the stove attempting french toast, eggs and sausage and is almost successful at it.

Through the window, the sun is shining and Kreature is picking flowers for the table and hexing garden gnomes over the hedge. Harry's tuneless whistling can be heard in the garden and his 'Snog the Cook' apron is in plain view. Occasionally James's infant babblings can be heard, causing laughter among his parents. Yes folks, it is a peaceful, beautiful day!

Just outside the garden gate, a distinctive POP of Apparation can be heard. Kreature says nothing as a figure comes through the gate. Normally this would be odd, however it is becoming more and more frequent to the point that the combination lets the Potters know exactly who has arrived.

Ginny continues to read, Harry has stopped his tuneless whistling but his whistling has been replaced by a sly smile, knowing that his wife is firmly bitting her lip. Only James seems perplexed by the off pattern of footsteps approaching their door. Flomp, a-flomp. Flomp, a-flomp. Flomp, a-flomp.

By the time the footsteps reach the front steps, Ginny has started to giggle, which is jerking at Harry's composure as well. He has to calmly remind himself Ginny's pregnancy with James, some tricky reconnaissance mission scheduled for next week, and finally of Umbridge in order to keep a straight face.

The knock is low on the door. Ginny gives a final snerk before pursing her lips in a fairly convincing manner. James perks up from the blocks and his curiousity wins out. He totters out to the foyer.

"DOOR'S OPEN," Harry calls, cracking a new egg into the pan.

The door opens and shuts slowly. James babbles a greeting non-stop. Slowly and painfully, Ron Weasley, famous Auror, hobbles into the kitchen. He is hunched at the waist bent nearly in half, one hand clutching what one would hope is his lower abdomen. Harry flicks his wand and James's step stool lands neatly in front of the closest side of the table. Without comment, Ron kneels on it, landing his head on the table. Ron grunts in a pinched way and grabs for the orange juice.

"Have you had breakfast?" Harry knows the answer, but always asks it anyway.

"Haven't," Ron grunts. Ginny chooses that moment to let out a snort, unable to stop it. Ron gives her a glowerly look which she doesn't see since she is refusing to look in his direction.

"What happened this time?" Harry asks as he plops down three fully loaded plates and one child's size bowl of cereal, even though he knows the question should be 'what did you do this time' but knows better than to state it.

"Nothing!" Ron glomps around his mouthfull of food. "Like it's my bleeding fault she still tries to put on stockings in her bloody eighth and a half month! Rolling around, trying to get around that great big belly of hers!"

Ginny completely abandons her paper by this point. Her attempts at keeping a straight face are long gone, instead she's simply attempting to be able to speak. "She still wears stockings? _Muggle stockings_?"

"Yeah! Wants to look professional at work up until she goes into labor!" Ron swallows thickly around his french toast. "So I told her, 'Mione, no one will think less of you if you wanted to wear a tent! You're as big as a whale!"

Harry chokes on his juice at that, earning him a look from Ginny. "What happened then?"

"Well, she started to go after her wand and was cursing me the whole time, the muggle way, might I add, but the wand was on the far night-stand and she was having a hard time getting to it- so she had half her stockings up, rolling back and forth like an upended frizzy-haired turtle trying to reach her wand. I went to grab the camera, got too close and-"

Harry winces. At that moment a crash happens in the hall which gives Ginny the perfect excuse to flee into the hallway and start howling with laughter.

Harry is silent for a second, wondering if it's even worth asking. On the one hand, Ron may never be able to have another child at this rate, may hex him for asking and there was a certain level of lack of dignity involved for Hermione, whom he loves like a sister. Finally his curiousity wins out.

"So, did you get the picture then?" He asks quietly, so Ginny won't hear. Afterall, he might want to have a third child at some point.


	3. Harry PMSing more than usual

Harry is slumped on the couch, his back practically flat against the seat with a half-gallon of double fudge swirl cookie dough ice cream resting on his belly. Looking grumpy he is shoveling big scoops of ice cream mechanically into his mouth, not bothering to clean up the mess as melted chunks fall on his stained hoodie or drip on the cushions.

Ron enters the room, giving a bone-cracking stretch, yawn and finally a quick scratch on the bum. He spots Harry and staggers over, plopping himself down next to him. Harry grunts and moodily continues to stuff his face.

Ron, oblivious as always, peers longingly into the ice cream tub, smacking his lips. "Hmmmm, that looks good," he says, his stomach grumbling. He withdraws a spoon from his pocket for just such emergencies (come on, he is a growing boy, after all!) "Do you mind if I-"

Harry, for reasons only known to this author, roars like a literal lion and clutches the ice cream tub harder. With a swift kick, Ron lands on the floor in a heap, blinking dizzily up at Harry.

"Guess not, then," Ron mutters as he slowly.. backs.. away.

From the couch: "OM NOM NOM NOM!"


	4. Why Remus Always Has Chocolate

**AN: There is obviously a theme here. This is the scenerio that started the whole banana.**

A group of women (any group of women) is sitting around complaining about their monthly Dementors . Remus Lupin barges in, mouth full of chocolate.

"Don t I know it!" he says thickly around his mouthful. He sprawls himself unceremoniously onto the sofa into the midst of the bloated, cramping mess of hormones. "I sprout all this hair and go on a wild killing spree!" he says with total concentration to his chocolate bar. He breaks off several pieces and crams them into his mouth. "And don t get me STARTED on the headache and the soreness the morning after! I'm pretty much out of it for a week. It's a _BITCH_!"

This proclamation is met with ringing silence from the horde of women around him. Lupin seems unaware of the awkwardness. Rather, he wipes a bit of melted chocolate from his chin and only his shabby trousers. Finally looking up, he notices that his reception is less than welcome. Several of the women are starting to look thunderous. One's eye is twitching, another is reaching for her wand.

"Uh," Lupin mutters, looking for a possible means of escape. The group starts to lean in on him and he gulps thickly. He looks down and then meekly offers up his remaining candy. "Er... Chocolate, anyone?"

Lupin is soon swarmed, not by wrathful jinxes, hexes and curses, but a mass of hugging.

Lesson: When in doubt, it's always best to share.

"Uh ladies? I can't breathe!"

Well, maybe not.


	5. Lily 2 days before her period, 5th year

Fifteen year old Snape is sitting in the library reading. It's a Saturday early in the fall term- he is the only student in the library. Most everyone else is outdoors, including Potter's gang, who Snape is avoiding at the moment.

The door opens and Lily Evans comes in the library with her shock of red hair. She passes Snape by and heads into a more secluded part of the library. Snape knows this isn't in anyway a snub- she's never shy in telling him if he's somehow offended her. He takes this as a cue to pick up his belongings and follow her, away from Madam Pince's hearing.

Sure enough, he finds her at the farthest table. She's about as close as a student can get to the restricted section without a note. She is madly scribbling in a notebook.

Snape sets his work down across from her quietly, picks up where he left off and continues. Every once in a while he looks up from his work and watches her as long as he dares. Her brow is knitted and her eyes are bright in concentration. Her hair halos her face in a tangled mess, so very different than her well-brushed mane. It looks soft and touchable. The narrow table allows the scent from her shampoo wafting under his nose and he wants to breathe deeply, but he knows that would give him away.

Instead he bends his face back over his work. His hand is poised over the parchment, but he's much more content to watch her write. Her script, normally only slightly elegant, is now a jumble of hasty scrawl. Some letters over-lap themselves and are crossed out and re-written. Her fingers and the page are splotched with ink.

He looks up at her face again, taking in what he did not see before. Her cheeks are flushed, but the rest of her is pale. Slight bags are under her eyes- the distinct air of someone who had not slept well.

Snape is about to do what he knows is foolish- ask what's wrong. But then Lily stops her writing momentarily and looks around the bookcase to make sure Pince was still at her desk. Deciding that it's safe, Lily burrows into her robes and pulls out a chocolate and devours it quickly, disposing the wrapper in her robes.

For the first time she looks at Snape, "Want one, Sev?" she whispers, even though she knows that Snape hates chocolate.

"No thanks," he replies.

"More for me, then," Lily says, popping another chocolate in her mouth.

Snape looks down at his parchment, letting his hair obscure his smile.

*%*%*%*%*

The morning in the library was brief. Lily didn't mind studying with Snape in the library, but there wasn't much studying to do. She had left as quickly as she appeared, begging off to lie down. Snape has known her long enough to know that sleeping during this point in the month was pretty useless, but she never would admit that to him. In turn, he never showed any indication that he knew what was happening. Muggles have such funny ideas about natural bodily workings.

Snape finds Lily easily by the Transfiguration classroom the next day- she is never hard to spot. She is talking- or rather, being talked _at_ by Bertha Jorkins, who is obviously more concerned with the sound of her own voice than Lily being undeniably uncomfortable.

"Evans," Snape calls, walking up to them. Lily's surname is one Snape only uses when he truly wants Lily's attention. He uses it so rarely that Lily is snapped out of her bored trance and takes a second to find him approaching. Bertha snuffs disapprovingly but buggers off without a fuss. Snape is sure some sort of wild story will be spun out of control by supper-time.

"What's going on, Sev?" Lily asks. Up close she's paler than she was the day before- obviously more tired or else she never would have allowed Jorkins to corner her so easily.

"Here," Snape says, pressing a small bottle into Lily s hand.

She eyes it for a moment. "What's this?"

"_Solamen serum_, er- relief potion, for women," he adds at Lily s confused look. "I brew it for Mother during the summer holidays."

Lily looks like she's about to protest. She flushes a bit with embarrassment. For a brief moment, Snape is afraid that she'll ask how he knows. He doesn't want to tell her how even though it should be obvious by this point. But he doesn't want to give her up. Saying something- admitting it- is too dangerous.

Instead, after a heart-stopping moment, she simply pockets the serum and kisses his cheek, muttering a quiet "Thank you" and running off.

Snape smiles all the way down to the dungeons, the heat of his face driving away the dank cold.


	6. Luna on PMS: Why Luna is bastard Python

**AN: This one is lazy and frankly, a bit of a rip-off, but I firmly believe that Eric Idle should have played Xeno Lovegood, and dammit, this is why:**

***hint, I would recommend youtubing Monty Python's 'The Galaxy Song' otherwise this will make no sense whatsoever. It still might not make sense, but bugger it all, it's my story!**

Luna is sitting at the Ravenclaw table. There is nothing out of place for her: just the typical radish earrings, talk of gnargles and thestrals. Suddenly, she perks up, hearing Lavender Brown at the end Gryffindor table closest to the door, sobbing over Won Won, who has been missing since Bill and Fleur's wedding last August.

Luna stands up and approaches her, Lavender doesn't notice her at first, but other Gryffindors do and eventually Lavender takes notice.

"What do _you_ want?" she demands, giving Luna a dirty look.

Luna pays the tone no heed. Instead, she gets up on the table between the roast beef and the yorkshire pudding.

Sings: _"Whenever life gets you down, Miss Brown And things seem hard or tough And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft And you feel that you've had quite enu-hu-hu-huuuuffff!"_

Luna bends down and extends her hand to Lavender. Lavender looks around sheepishly. Not many people are staring... yet. Parvati elbows her and Lavender extends her hand to Luna, who pulls her up onto the table with her.

Luna tucks Lavender's arm with hers and starts to walk her slowly among the veg and taters.

Sings: _"Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving And revolving at 900 miles an hour That's orbiting at 19 miles a second, so it's reckoned A sun that is the source of all our power The sun and you and me, and all the stars that we can see Are moving at a million miles a day In an outer spiral arm, at 40,000 miles an hour Of the galaxy we call the Milky Way"_

She waltzs them around a milk jug but upsets the Butter Beer. The Gryffindor's barely notice the mess, except for those who have their laps full of the stuff.

Sings: _"Our galaxy itself contains 100 billion stars It's 100,000 light-years side-to-side It bulges in the middle, 16,000 light-years thick But out by us it's just 3000 light-years wide We're 30,000 light-years from galactic central point We go round every 200 million years And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions In this amazing and expanding universe"_

Luna points to the ceiling, and all the stars begin to swirl, dancing and forming shapes. The Big and Little Dippers are waltzing, Gemini is doing a complex two-step and Orion is just adjusting his belt (not much of a dancer, that one).

Sings:_ "The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding In all of the directions it can whiz As fast as it can go, at the speed of light you know Twelve million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is"_

As they reach the end of the table, closest to the Head table, Luna twirls Lavender so enthusiastically that Lavender somehow finds herself sitting on the end of the bench. Luna is hovering over her on all fours almost nose-to-nose.

Sings: _"So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure How amazingly unlikely is your birth! And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space-"_

Luna jumps down from the end of the table, almost floating. She lands neatly by Lavender. She leans in again, delivering her final line:

Sings: _"Because there's bugger all down here on Earth"_

Luna crinkles her nose, then turns her head back to other end of the hall as if someone had called her name- which of course, no one did. The hall is dead silent for approximately 10 seconds, then Luna scarpers off back to her seat. The Great Hall becomes noisy with supper again.

"Don't worry-" says a voice. Lavender shakes her head out of its daze to find that she's sitting next to Ginny Weasley. Ginny swallows the bit of bread in her mouth. "She always goes into a bit of song and dance around this time of month."


	7. Why There Were So Many Weasley Children

Harry and Ginny are over for tea one day and Harry is distinctly nervous. His in-laws have known him since he was eleven years old and to be fair, when Ginny had told Arthur and Molly they were dating only minimal threats were made.

No- what made Harry nervous was that despite the fact that Bill, George and Percy had all produced grandchildren, the fact remained that Ginny was the baby of the family, was married for two years to Harry and Molly was eager for a baby. This was no secret.

Arthur couldn't be bothered either way, as long as his children were happy. If Ginny and Harry wanted to wait to start a family or if they didn't want to have a family at all, that was their business. There was no point pushing it.

The thing to remember with Molly was that if she wasn't fussing or yelling, she was plotting, which was what she doing at this very moment. Most certainly this is where the twins got it from.

Molly sat Harry next to Ginny, making sure there was almost no room for them to be more than a few inches apart. Was it his imagination or was the table much smaller on their end than it was on Molly and Arthur's end?

"So," Molly says, calmly pouring tea. "You've been married- what? A few months?"

Ginny raises her eyebrow. "Two years, Mum, as of last March. Remember Victoire was the flower girl? She was only three at the time?"

Molly gives a nasty look to her daughter only to immediately mask it by slapping an 'oh too innocent' smile on her face. "Oh that's right! How could I have forgotten? Milk, dear?" she says, holding out the pitcher of cream to Harry.

"Er, please," Harry says timidly. Molly dumps far too much in, almost making his cup over-flow but Harry doesn't dare make a comment. He takes the cup and takes a big gulp.

"So why haven't you had any children yet?" Molly asks and Harry just barely is able to swallow without making a mess. But Ginny seems to be made of tougher stuff.

"Not that it's your business, but we're waiting before we-"

"See, dear?" Arthur says, rubbing his hands and diving for a biscuit. "They're just waiting- all in good time!"

Molly seems far from convinced. She eyes Harry suspiciously, like he's guilty of something. Not for the first time he wonders if the hat sorted her into Gryffindor by mistake. The look she is giving him is definitely Slytherin.

"Are you having problems?" Molly says finally. Ginny puts her head in her hands and groans, a move not missed by her mother. "That's it, isn't it!" Molly practically screams for all of Ottery St. Catchpole to hear. "You're having marital problems or-" Molly lets out a gasp "Harry, are you impotent?"

Harry upsets the sugar bowl and dives to catch it. His Quidditch skills fail him miserably as it breaks and sends sugar flying everywhere. Red-faced and grabbing for his wand, Arthur beats him to the punch, muttering a quick 'Repairo'.

Molly is talking a million miles a minute and so is Ginny. Arthur hands Harry back the sugar bowl as Ginny argues intimate details of their love-life that he never wanted to tell anyone.

"Harry and are perfectly fine and normal with our sex life! It's not for a lack of ability, I can tell you that right now! And as a matter of fact, Mum, we are using protection until we feel that the time is right! I have Quidditch to think about and our house is much too small for children and-"

"PROTECTION!" Molly bellowed. "Since when has a child needed to be planned! Since when does protection ever work?"

"We've been using protection for several years and have never had a problem!" Ginny yelled. "Just because you-"

'Oh please oh please,' Harry begs to himself. 'Please don't start talking about that now-' But it wasn't Molly or Ginny that spoke next, it was Arthur.

Harry loves Arthur as much as any man could love his father in-law. But there were times… oh were there times.

"Protection?" Arthur says. He perks up and rounds on Harry. "You were raised by Muggles, right?"

Harry slowly nods. 'Oh please oh please oh please'

"Do you use those little doo-hickies? Condos?"

Harry feels his face blazing as if someone had dunked his head into a vat of fire whiskey. He feels he should correct Arthur, but he can't find his voice, he simply nods. He never trusted magic near- and well, they worked. 'Oh please oh please oh please let that be the end of that-' No such luck.

"You know," Arthur says, leaning in towards Harry. "Molly and I used them for years and it never seemed to work."

Harry dimly promises himself that he would never touch a condom, Ginny or himself again, because this was entirely too odd of a conversation. Or at least when he had to talk to his own children, he was going to let Hermione handle it all, because Arthur was drawing a bloody diagram to the pin-drop silence from the rest of the family.

"Maybe you can tell me how these work because they never- I think I have an old one upstairs if you could-"

"NO!" Harry says, just a little too loudly. Ginny's eyes go wide, or were they already wide and going wider? He gingerly makes a motion towards Arthur's quill and takes it. He takes Arthur's crude drawing and turns it so he can make his own scribble. "You're supposed to roll the- over the… like that."

Harry sets down the quill, feeling sick. This could not be real. This couldn't be-

Arthur eyes the parchment, squinting at it, peering over his spectacles, tilting it back and forth until- "Oh I see!" Arthur says with a wide smile. "I've had it all wrong this whole time! It doesn't tie around. It goes over! See, honey!" Arthur moves to show the parchment gleefully to Molly, but soon his face falls flat. "Honey."

Now, Harry has seen some spectacular tempers out of Molly Weasley before. But none- absolutely none- could possibly match the one she was building herself up to now.

In a fit of barely masked panic, Harry grabs Ginny's arm and almost yanks it out of her socket in an effort to flee as quickly as possible. Given the amount of steam rising from Molly's head and the flaming, twisted scowl on her face they had approximately-

"What about Dad?" Ginny asks as they head into the garden.

"He's a grown man," Harry replies. "He can take care of him-"

"YOU MEAN I GAVE BIRTH TO SEVEN CHILDREN BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO USE A MUGGLE CONDO?"

The bang was incredible- the roof blew, several neighbors went to St Mungo's for various hexes that had gotten loose. Once they smoke cleared, it was found that Arthur had been turned a brilliant shade of green. With his red hair, he looked rather like a Christmas tree.

"Well, at least there is some good out of this," Ginny says as they watch all the garden gnomes flee.

"Yeah, and that is?"

"Mum won't bug as about kids for a while."

"Too right."


	8. Randomly Bastardize a Canon Chapter

GoF: The Egg and the Eye

Gryffindor common room:

Harry takes a whiff of his arm-pits. "Woo! I'm feeling a bit ripe! I better go take a bath!"

"Thank god!" Hermione closes whatever heavy book she's reading. "I didn't want to say anything, but I don't think I've ever seen you take a bath in the three and a half years I've known you!"

"Now that you mention it, I don't think I have either," Ron said as he counts off on his fingers. "The time we got stuck in the Chamber of Secrets, crawling through the passage from the Shrieking Shack, getting all muddy during Quidditch, and you got all sweaty when we got lost in the Forbidden Forest last time... Oh and-"

Harry suddenly leaps from his chair. "I should go now while there is massive pile of homework to do, but I'm feeling a little peckish." He grabs a hard-boiled egg from a plate. "Ah! This should provide me the much-needed nutrients I need in order to bath!"

Hermione holds up golden egg. "Ahem!"

"I can't eat that!" Harry is footie jammies and a robe, holding a bath brush, fluffy towel and rubbery ducky.

"You're not supposed to eat it, you're supposed to figure out the clue."

"I don't wanna"

"But you'll fail the second challenge! In front of the whole school!"

Harry crosses his arms and pouts. "Nuh-uh. Nothin' doing!"

"We'll tell Cho you're a wimp!" Ron says.

Harry looks at Ron, worried. "Uh..."

"And about your Blues Clues PJs"

"Hey! You leave Blue out of this!"

10 minutes later Harry stomps into Prefect's bathroom in his golden egg. "Stupid Ron, narking on me! No one mocks my jammies and lives!" Harry starts to disrobe without looking to make sure the coast is clear. He's about to unzip his robe when porn music starts to play.

Looking around for the source, he finds Myrtle sitting on the other side of the tub with a boombox, looking dreamily at him. "Oh, don't mind me. It'll be like I'm not even here." She blows him a kiss.

"On second thought," Harry says, zipping his jammies back up. "It would be a shame to ruin a 7 year dirt streak." Harry runs out of the room faster than the twins can make fun of Percy, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.


	9. Randomly Bastardize a Canon Chapter pt2

HBP: Horace Slughorn

Dumbledore: Come with me, Harry, and we ride to Hogwarts!

Harry: Er, sir, it's only August.

Dumbledore: Oh good, that'll give us time to run some errands. Let's see- new quills, some lemon drops...

Harry: It's nearly midnight, Professor. Most of those places are closed.

Dumbledore: Fine, Mr Smarty-Pants. Where do you suggest we go?

Harry: The Burrow?

Dumbledore: Pish-posh! Let's go barge in on someone who looks like furniture. If he's any bigger than a loveseat we'll have to keep him in a tent by the lake.

Harry: Dumbledore: Right-o!

*the pair Apparates*

Harry: ACK! Dumbledore: Ok, Whiney McWhiner-son, What now?

*Harry pulls pointy hat off head, yelps at the flowing midnight blue elderly robes he's found himself in. Dumbledore looks down to find himself dressed as a scraggly teenager*

Dumbledore: Oops! Side along Apparation tends to do that. *waves wand, clothes are righted* Dumbledore: Better now?

Harry: Yes. Thanks. Can we go to the Burrow now?

Dumbledore: No. Now let's wander over here!

*Dumbledore runs to a door of a deserted house, rings the doorbell several times in a row without pause. He gets no response. He taps his foot impatiently*

Dumbledore: TRICK OR TREAT, YOU BASTARD! WHERE'S MY RASPBERRY YAM?

Harry: I don't think anyone is home, sir.

Dumbledore: PHHHT! Who taught you that one? Trelawney? Screw this!

*Opens door, grabs Harry by the shirt front and yanks him inside. Harry yelps*

Harry: You yanked out my one chest hair, you son of a-!

*Dumbledore ignores him, looks around the room at the blood and destruction*

Dumbledore: Oh really now, is this really necessary?

*Dumbledore throws a ninja star at the over-stuffed inflatable novelty chair. It deflates. Beside it another chair gives frightened 'yipe' and transfigures into a beach ball with a mustache*

Sluggie: Do you have to pull that ninja star trick EVERY TIME? What if your aim is off?

Dumbledore: Merlin willing, one day it will be. Now, will you join me at Hogwarts and bake brownies?

Sluggie: Never!

Harry: Uh, why is the room covered in blood?

Sluggie: Because- HEY! You're Harry freakin Potter!

Harry: Well, brilliantly spotted!

Dumbledore: Excuse me, I must go see a man about a wallaby.

Sluggie: Hm... *watches Dumbledore skeedaddle* Queer sort of fellow, isn't he-

*Harry looks blankly*

Sluggie: SO!

*Harry jumps about 3 feet in the air, clutching his heart*

Sluggie: Brownies, eh?

Harry: Er, yes.

*Sluggie smacks his lips*

Sluggie: Made by Professor Spout, I wager? Ever had a good herbology brownie?

Harry: No, er, I don't really care for chocolate...

Sluggie: Harry, my boy, you've convinced me! I shall go teach at Hogwarts!

Harry: Yeah, sure, ok-

Dumbledore returns!: Lookie! I found knitting patterns! Now I can go fulfill my life-long dream of creating a thermal daisy-yellow muumuu! Come, Harry! We must buy yarn!

Sluggie: I'm coming back to Hogwarts, you old coot!

Dumbledore: Yeah yeah yeah, blah blah blah, send me a post card and we'll discuss it over waffles! Now we must be off!

Harry: *sort of under breath* Off is rig-

Dumbledore: To the time machine!

Harry: You mean the Burrow, right?

Dumbledore: Yes, fine, the Burrow. Wittle ickle-Pottikins wants to go nappy-by!

Harry: Well it is 1am, sir.

*Dumbledore holds out arm*

Dumbledore: You're starting to sound like a broken record, boy. Grab hold and we'll pursue that flighty temptress and blah blah blah.


	10. Randomly Bastardize a Canon Chapter pt3

PS/SS: Man with Two Faces (spoilers)

Scene: Dumbledore is stilling with Harry in the hospital wing after the adventures Voldemort and Quirrel.

"And there's something else..."

"Fire away."

"Quirrel said Snape-"

"_Professor _Snape, Harry."

"Yes, him- Quirrel said he hates he because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Well, they did have rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr Malfoy. And then your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He stole your mother."

_"What?"_

"Professor Snape loved your mother. From day one he wanted to bone her senseless but couldn't find the bollocks to do it. He pined and pined and pined. Madame Pomfrey had to give him a lot of healing potions his first couple of years to ease the chafing. That's why he became so interested in potions, because he had to make his own stock when Poppy refused to give him any more. He and your mother were very close, but I'm very surprised she never noticed how much of her hair he stole. The boy kept scissors with him whenever they met up. By the third year her hair was so lopsided that she looked like an 80's hair-band, and mind you this was before the 80's even started! Eventually Professor Snape tried to play big-man and joined the Death Eaters, because _somehow _he got the idea the way to win a muggle-born's affection was to join an anti-muggle group (go figure). She got fed up with it, went to your father who was known for his skilled... wand work... had you and completely crushed Professor Snape's hopes, dreams and libido. And then there was the whole thing about a prophecy involving you being the only person who could possibly stop Voldemort, Professor Snape overhearing and sharing it with Voldemort himself, causing your parents to go into hiding, choosing the wrong friend to keep them safe, causing their deaths and for your Godfather (you have a godfather, btw, who is completely mad and you will never see him) to go on a mad killing spree, leaving you all alone in the world. "

Harry looks dumbfounded at Dumbledore.

"And then there was the time your father saved Professor Snape from a werewolf, and he couldn't bear being in your father's debt. Now he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace. Well-" Dumbledore stretches and yawns. "That's all for now! Goodnight!"

Dumbledore waves his wand and extinguishes the lamps in the room. Harry is left in his bed, blinking.

Dumbledore's head appears in the doorway. "And oh yes, that scar on your forehead is actually- Oh, nevermind, now's not the time. We'll discuss in about 5 years. Goodnight!" Dumbledore leaves.

Several seconds tick by. "Er? Professor?"

Actually, this scene would have shortened up the whole series by about a few thousand pages, and wouldn't've _that _been a shame?


	11. Pottergoose is insane

**1. This is complete and utter crack. Multi-fandom, extra points if you can correctly guess all the characters and their fandoms.**

**2. Explanation posted at the bottom.**

I have served spirits for 15 years. A bar is a place to blow off steam, so you have to be ready for anything. I have seen fights, drunken marriage proposals, drunken marriage refusals and on one strange occasion, a drunken attempt at major surgery. There's not a lot that I find scandalous or surprising, being in the business as long as I have.

When I took the Titanic job, I retired. I had been thinking about selling the bar for a few years, get out and travel the world. What better way to do that then on someone else's dime? Besides, the folks that would be on Titanic were bound to be moderately well-behaved and RICH.

My expectations were met pretty quickly. The manager put me in an old-fashioned, 1910's style tuxedo with so stiff of a lapel that I was sure I was meant to cut limes with it, and pushed me behind the vast oak bar that was stocked with every expensive liquor I had either kept on the top shelves or never bothered to stock. The gala opening featured a lot of people, many dressed like they were rolled in diamonds, and lacquered in platinum.

I was working a full bar, very little help except for the wait-staff that carted off the drinks as soon as I could make them, but in my furtive glances I could see many dashing men and several elegant and gorgeous women. The elite of the world was there, but interspersed in the general horde I recognized several people dressed in 'character'.

My wife liked romances, as much as any woman does, I suppose. It was somewhere in the 90's the film came out that inspired the re-building of the ship and I was dragged to see it. Thankfully, my wife's (God rest her soul) urge to see the film repeatedly did not require me to see it more than twice during the initial run, but thanks to the DVD her sister had bought her, I had long since memorized every costume, every line, every plot twist.

There were several women dressed as 'Rose', most of them with badly dyed red hair. One or two men dressed as 'Hockley', but most men accompanying the 'Rose's were dressed as 'Jack', though most chose the costume he borrowed to attend the first-class dinner. Thankfully so.

It was expected. The movie had been popular, once upon a time. And part of the appeal of this ship now was the chance to re-create a fantastical fictional romance. Besides, my job is to serve drinks, not pass judgment.

The second night was quiet. Many men were with their partners cashing in on the cost and effort of getting them on the maiden voyage of the re-created Titanic. There were many room service orders for champagne and occasionally something stronger, but the patronage at the bar was minimal. Some journalists, writing their articles about the first night of the voyage, a few men discussing business or playing cards, the owner of the new ship was there doing some gloating over the grandness of the venture, but nothing exciting.

It was on the third night that I started to re-think my decision of coming aboard. I was due to start the 9pm shift but had run late. It had been a long time since I had been at sea and had forgotten when offered the job that I didn't always take too well to the rocking of a ship.

I wasn't very late, only by 10 minutes, but the bartender I was relieving didn't seem too forgiving about it.

He tossed the towel onto the bar and made a grab for the strings on his apron. "About time," he said. He stomped out behind the bar in a vague melodrama I associated with my children during the adolescent tantrums. "Keep an eye on those two. Both eyes."

I turned and saw two teenagers- or at least, young adults- making out in one of the booths. No, devouring each other. It was hard to tell where one ended and the other began, but they were in a dark corner that was out of the way, they weren't making any noise that I could hear.

"That's all?" I turned to talk to the bartender, but he was already gone. I shrugged and headed behind the bar. Not counting the necking couple, I was alone. If all I had to worry about was a couple of hormonal kids, then it wouldn't be anything I couldn't handle.

I gave the bar a good wipe-down and did some re-stocking when I looked at the couple again. The girl had climbed into the boy's lap and there was definite… rocking. I started to get out some disposable napkins to place on their table for the inevitable when the door banged open.

Two more teenagers, hobbled in, drunk. They weren't nearly as quiet as the couple in the corner, but the girl, a very well-dressed but shambled girl, at least had some decorum. "Jack-" she said, giggling and attempted to keep him at arm's-length, but only half-heartedly. He leaned in until they were practically nose to nose. "We can't-"

"Come on, Rose" he said in a way that I remember from my own lust-hazed days. "They can't-"

Rose, one of the ones with the better dye job, giggled some more and stumbled, dragging Jack along with her near the dark corner inhabited by the unsuspecting neckers. I moved to intervene, hopefully peacefully. You never knew exactly what alcohol and youth would bring, but I was determined that if there would be a fight, it would be between me and Jack, not Jack and other patrons if it could be helped. However, I wasn't fast enough.

Rose pitched backward into the table. The girl of the necking couple who was perched on the boys lap, was pushed forward as the table dug into her back. The boy cried out, having gotten a bitten lip from the girl's shock.

"Hey!" he yelled. He moved the table back from the girl and she rolled off him. She reached a hand back and rubbed her back where the table had hit her. She glowered in what I could only describe as a blank, expressionless frown.

Jack glanced over at the table, for the first time aware that they weren't alone. Even then, I don't think they realized I was there. Jack eyes squinted into a narrow point. "What are you doing here?"

For the first time, I got a good look at the young man that had been being eaten alive by the young woman. Mostly because he seemed to move like vapor, pale and ghost-like. Within a second, so far I didn't register how he did it, he was out from behind the table and nose to nose with Jack.

He was handsome, in the way that youth have an obnoxious way of being. His eyes were light and reflected a hateful passion, as if all his lustful energies had magically switched to focus on Jack.

I had expected words, fists were usually reserved for after shouting, but the words had apparently been said before and were no use repeating now. The cold, pale man gave punch that sent Jack flying and Rose ran after him, screaming 'Jack!' repeatedly.

"Get him, Edward!" screamed the girl.

Edward crossed over to her and grabbed her by the waist, dipping her elegantly as a flamenco dancer might. "For you, my darling, anything." He brushed the hair back from her face and she swooned. "Bella, I would move heaven and earth. I would turn the moon to cheese. I would create a giant hammock out of the entrails of anyone that tries to keep us apart. I would-"

"Oh shut up!"

Jack had recovered from his flight and pounced on Edward, sending three of them to the ground. The boys rolled off of the girl, tossing fists and knees and in general making a lot of noise and mess that I supposed I should stop, but was too stunned.

I was frozen in place until I heard a primal, terrified scream. The girls had started their own brawl. Bella, enraged but somehow still expressionless, was straddled over Rose, punching her wherever she could reach. "He's mine! He's mine! We'll marry and we'll both glitter and you can't have him!"

"I don't want him!" Rose screamed, her arms covering her face. "I didn't mean to grab his- his- It just happened! I fell!"

"MINE!" Bella screamed.

"Stop hitting yourself! Stop hitting yourself!" Edward was yelling, each sentence was followed by a folly of smacking and painful yelps, but ladies first, I figured.

I attempted to pull Bella off of Rose, which shouldn't have been too hard since the girl, though expressionless, was pretty thin. But she clung like a vengefully leech. I attempted to pull Rose away, but she seemed to fight against all attempts at rescue more than she fought against Bella.

I went to the men, hopefully able to talk some sense into them, but without such luck. Jack had finally gained some upper hand, and was- drawing him, for lack of a better word.

"NO!" Edward cried. "My likeness! I can't have a likeness!"

"Shut up and pose!"

I didn't have time to contemplate just where Jack had obtained drawing paper and a pencil. A man, so wide he barely fit, was squeezing through the door. His face grew red under the strain of getting through the generous double wide french doors, which made his blond mustache stand out in all its bristly glory. A flash of light shown behind him. He gave a grunt and finally popped through.

Another man came behind him that was skinny enough to have fit through a straw with little problem, unless you counted the large, hooked nose to be a hindrance. He was dressed head to toe in black, had lanky greasy hair and a foot-long stick.

But the oddest of the bunch was a short, squat, toad-like woman clad in garish pink. She gave a little giggle, which was obviously was designed to make her sound young and innocent, but failed to do the job.

The trio, all of whom seemed to take up the allotment of expression that Bella lacked, roamed into the bar at their leisure. The fat man huffed and grunted and muttered to himself. The woman gave a dainty 'ahem' which was largely ineffectual.

The lanky man gave a sneer at Edward and Jack, stepped over the girls rolling on the floor with barely glance and deposited himself at the bar. He looked over at me expectantly, so I went behind the bar to take his order.

"Whiskey- make it a double. Neat."

I poured him a triple, seeing as he was the only one that chose to acknowledge my presence and didn't remind me of a blond walrus or a psychotic carnival doll on acid.

He didn't seem to notice the extra alcohol, but he downed it all in two gulps and set his glass down for another. He didn't drink the shot so quickly this time, but paused to glance at the sobbing Edward and the expressionless bitch-slapping from Bella. He went back to his drink and sighed pathetically. "Brats, the lot of them."

"Do you know what's going on?" I asked.

The lanky man sneered and seemed to want to deliver some scathing retort, when a dark, sinister marching song was heard faintly outside. The sound grew louder until a sweep of a man that seemed mostly of machine and a black cape came in. His face, which was hardly a face at all, was mostly a black helmet, a grill and a pair of sunglasses. His breath came out like a shaky air duct.

As strange as that man was, there was no defining the giant, floating, flaming eye (somehow managed to wear a tie) that followed him. The final man, however, was a large improvement over both of them, mostly because he only resembled a burn victim more than a machine, an eye, a whale, a beanpole, a toad, a boy band member, a kabuki mask, a debutant or a artist who really liked people to remove their clothes. Sure, he had no nose, skin like a dead fish and a face like a smacked bottom, but at least he wasn't-

I didn't get to finish that thought. The man with a helmeted ventilator for a head turned his face(?) to the girls and with a wave of his hand, they flew apart as if some invisible force separated them. Rose, once she realized that she was no longer locked in a cat fight, looked relieved. Bella looked- expressionless.

"Oh!" Cried the toad-woman. She skipped girlishly over the sobbing but still devastating handsome Edward (just barely making it) and hugged Ventilator Man around the raised arm. "It's about time a REAL man showed a regard for the rules!" Ventilator Man turned toward her, looked at where she was gripping his arm, lowered it away from her grip. He stalked off to the door, the marching theme beginning again and fading into the hall.

"Wait!" Toad-woman cried. She chased after him. "Wait!"

"Damn!" said the floating, blazing eye. "I only came on this cruise to get some action! Now everyone is paired off!"

Burn Victim turned to him. "Look, Blinky, I only agreed to become your wing-man if you handed over the ring. Whether or not you have the balls to get some action is not my concern."

"You try being a floating, blazing eye and see how much action that gets you," the eye retorted. "One hobbit prostitute and you end up getting a burning retina for all eternity."

"Oh, for the love of Merlin!" I turned to look at the lanky man, who had miraculously retrieved the most expensive whisky from the top shelf of the bar without actually moving from his spot, reached into his jacket and pulled out a vial. He tossed it to the flaming eye without regard as how a floating, flaming eye would catch it, but apparently it could catch it just fine.

"What's this?"

"Visine."

"Visine?"

"Visine, Severus? A MUGGLE INVENTION? Why, you've been a traitor all along! Avada Kedarva!"

Severus, or what was once Severus, toppled to the floor. The bottle of whisky crashed to the floor.

"Why did you do that?" The eye demanded. In my shock of having a man killed in my bar, I had somehow missed the floating eye applying the medication. The eye had turned to normal. Well, as normal as an enormous floating eye could possibly be. "He was going to brew me a potion to get all the ladies."

"Yes, I'm sure a floating eye has much need for 'ladies'. Tell me, do you use a contact lens for protection?"

"I've had enough of this!" The blond whale said. He had climbed onto a nearby table, but how it supported his weight I had no idea. He did a surprisingly graceful swan-dive onto the eye, squishing it flat. The room was coated in eye-goop and I tried as best as I could to wipe it away from my mouth and eyes.

"You stupid Muggle!" cried Burn Victim. He raised a wooden stick, similar to the one Severus had directly at the blond whale. "He hadn't given me the ring yet and now he's dead!"

"Ring?!" the blond whale bellowed. His face grew redder and he began climbing onto the table again. "You mean you're one of those… poofters? I always knew your lot were sick, twisted, perverted, demented, daft, queefing, tarty, unwholesome, boot-sniffing, swishing, liberal, prancing, twinkle-toeing, arse-grabbing, nipple-wrenching, tap-dancing, skirt-lifting, gender-salting, spicy-food making, donating to worthy charities, making those yummy pastries with fruit in the middle, lip-serving, q-tip using, tax-deducting, fashionable, curtseying, tight-rope walking, quiche-baking, novel reading, ice sculpturing, fairytale telling, coffee brewing, puissant, wanting equal rights under the law which is perfectly understandable since you're both adults, Supercalifragilistic Expialidocious even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious, rock music listening, highly probable to make tiny appetizers with bits of cheese, QUEERS! Well, I have had it with your kind!"

Then the blond whale, in all of his fantastical, tubby glory, leapt onto the Burn Victim and squashed him as flat as the accused lover that had once been a floating eye ball.

The boat creaked. It was then that I remembered that I was on a boat which, unfortunately, was mathematically certain to be able to sink. How a whale had been successfully to board a vessel in the first place was beyond my reasoning, but the swan-diving and destruction of the floor and the gaping hole that he had created started filling with water.

There were screams from below and gurgling. Maybe the surviving passengers had known nothing from history, and I doubt these characters were aware of any problems that weren't directly related to them, but I knew enough to get going while the getting was good.

I ran behind the bar and grabbed the most expensive, most potent liquors I could get within a few seconds and made a flying leap out the door, leaving behind Jack and Rose screaming for each other repeatedly the glittering and handsome Edward and the expressionless (even in the face of her own death) Bella.

I ran out to the upper deck, which was no small task, given the angle the ship was tits up.

If there was any doubt in my mind that this whole trip had been doomed from the start, the issue was now settled.

The upper deck was full of a myriad of activities, none of which were helpful. Several people were sitting around enjoying tea, talking about how the imitation of the boat sinking was really a nice touch to an otherwise dull trip. There were kids swinging from loose ropes like miniature Tarzans. A group of passengers were blaming everything from Buddha to Billy Mays for their imminent deaths. The rest were running in small circles muttering 'firefirefirefirefirefirefire '.

I grabbed four life vests, a lifeboat and got into the water in a sensible, unpanicked fashion. I dumped the bottles into the bottom of the boat, only to realize that one of the bottles grabbed was a soda bottle that contained no booze whatsoever and being completely useless to me getting shit-faced, I smashed it against the side of the boat in a grim, reverse christening.

"Bon voyage, mother-fuckers!" I called as I watched the ship gurgle and sink into the abyss.

So much for the sequel.

**Ok, so this craziness is came about because a friend of mine, known as Pottergoose, decides that I should provide her endless insanity, which I seem to have plenty of. The prompt was to have a story featuring Titanic, characters from Twilight, Voldemort, Sauron, Darth Vader, Snape, Vernon Dursley and Umbridge in a bar. **

**Characters in order of appearance:**

**-Samuel L Jackson (whom is the bartender only because Samuel L Jackson must always say 'mother-fucker')  
>-Edward and Bella (Twilight)<br>-Jack and Rose (Titanic)  
>-Vernon Dursley, followed by Severus Snape and Delores Umbridge (Harry Potter)<br>-Darth Vader (Star Wars)  
>-Sauron (Lord of the Rings)<br>-Voldemort (Harry Potter)  
>-'Firefirefirefirefire' Guy (Simpsons)<strong>


End file.
